A spoken word piece dedicated to the generous donors and their families of the Donor Body Program at the UCLA David Geffen School of Medicine.
—
The air grows heavy
from bearing the weight
of all our questions
and our intentions to learn,
to transform
into the healers we’ve
sworn to become.
So often, I stand
where the sun’s rays
and fluorescent bulbs
meld together. Where
sounds renounce harmony —
with papers rustling,
and steel clanking,
and my foot tapping away.
But then come moments,
sudden and pure,
slicing through
light
&
sound.
Moments when
the air goes utterly still,
or perhaps it’s just me,
and I stop probing altogether.
The stillness offers glimpses
of stories unsaid, yet told.
Stories etched into every groove
of every bone, into every fiber
of every muscle, into every
crease of skin, forming these arms —
arms which held their dear ones close,
and these hands — hands that guided
prayers into the dusk.
Each nerve carried lifetimes
of textures and smells
as they strolled down
their favorite streets, let their
spines curve and twist
as they danced, ran, crawled —
moving from one space to the next,
arteries pulsing, bronchi funneling air,
their eyes witness
to everyday miracles,
from sunrise to sunset,
up to the rim of Death’s door.
How many times did this heart,
now laid bare in front of me,
skip a beat in joy … or in fear?
And at night, how heavy
did the pacemaker feel
bound within their chest’s
rise and fall,
as they slipped into dreams.
Yes, there are moments
when the truth holds my
breath embraced:
how fortunate am I,
how blessed are we,
to learn from those brave enough,
selfless enough,
to keep giving their stories
of countless yesterdays,
all so we may blossom
into our tomorrow.
Poetry Thursdays is an initiative that highlights poems by medical students. If you are interested in contributing or would like to learn more, please contact our editors.
Image credit: Wildflowers (CC BY-NC-ND 2.0) by Utah~Dave AA7IZ